Man Candy

by Melanie Harlow

  That left her to stand—until she couldn’t anymore.

  I knelt in front of her. “Open your legs for me.”

  She widened her stance, and I ran my hands up the front of her thighs, over her lace-covered stomach. I took her breasts in my hands, kneading them gently as I brought my mouth just close enough to her pussy that she’d feel me breathing. “What do you want?” I asked her.

  “I want to come,” she said feverishly.

  “More specific, please.”

  “I want you to make me come.”

  “How?” I twisted her nipples between my thumbs and fingers, and she swayed forward.

  “With your tongue. I want you to make me come with your tongue.”

  “Good girl.” I put my mouth on her over the damp lace, kissing her lightly, stroking her with my tongue—soft, slow, leisurely strokes that made her body vibrate with impatience.

  “Quinn, please,” she begged. “Tell me what to say.”

  “Say you want more.”

  “I want more.”

  I took my hands off her breasts and moved the drenched swath of lace covering her pussy aside. “Like this?” I slipped my tongue low between her legs and dragged it up to the top in one firm sweep.

  “Yes,” she said, relief flooding her voice. “Yes.”

  I did it again, and this time I lingered at the top, teasing her open and fluttering the tip of my tongue across her swollen clit.

  “More,” she begged. “I still want more.”

  I gave her a little more pressure, then a little less. A little steadier rhythm, then slowed again. I changed my angle, fucked her with my tongue, but never stayed with one thing for too long. When I felt her legs begin to shake, I backed off.

  “Please, Quinn. Don’t stop,” she panted. “You have me so crazy right now, I can’t even see.”

  “Always in such a rush,” I scolded. “I told you I wanted to taste you. Let me get my fill.”

  “Fuck yes,” she said as I took her clit into my mouth and flicked it with my tongue. “Oh my God.”

  I slid two fingers inside her easily, pushing deep, and she moved against my hand, her cries high-pitched and plaintive. I felt her insides tightening around my fingers as the tension in her body reached the apex, and then she screamed my name as her legs buckled.

  I caught her around her hips, feeling her clit throb inside my mouth as my cock surged with renewed vigor.

  I have to get inside her.

  The need was intense, almost violent, and disturbingly possessive. She wasn’t mine by any means and didn’t even want to be mine, but something in me demanded her, compelled me to claim her.

  Jumping to my feet, I pulled her loose-limbed body over to the side of the couch and bent her forward over the arm. I undid my pants and shoved them to my knees, kicked her feet farther apart, and moved the black lace aside.

  “Fuck,” I growled. “I need a—”

  “Just do it,” she said, out of breath. “I need to feel you. Now.”

  I wasn’t going to ask again. Guiding the tip of my cock to her entrance, I pushed inside her, both of us moaning at the slick, hot friction. I’m fucking her without a condom. We’re breaking a rule. The realization that I’d scaled one of her walls made me crazy with lust for her, not like I needed any more motivation. But it felt like such a victory in this primal, testosterone-fueled way—like a prehistoric man taking out a wooly fucking mammoth.

  Not that Jaime was a wooly mammoth, of course. (And I probably won’t mention the analogy to her.)

  On the contrary, her back was pale and smooth, and I put my hands on her shoulder blades as I drove into her, her skin warm and sticky.

  Her perfume mixed with the scent of sex and filled my head, made my blood run even hotter. Her bound hands at the small of her back reminded me that I’d intended to torture her tonight with slow sex, punish her a little for the way she refused to give me a chance, show her that sex wasn’t always about the finish line and didn’t have to be such a straight line. It was fun to take time to enjoy one another, play around, trade roles, exchange power. We were new together, but we were good together—I felt it, and I knew she did too. Her willingness to play along with these games told me that, sexually, we were totally compatible.

  But the plan for a slow fuck?

  Yeah, that went the way of the pterodactyl.

  I grabbed her hair with one hand and wrapped my fingers around her crossed wrists with the other, aroused beyond my control by every sense—the sight of my cock pounding into her, the sound of her high-pitched cries and my caveman grunts, her smell, her taste in my mouth, the feel of her tight, wet pussy sliding over my dick—it was too much to bear.

  I came so hard I felt the ground shaking beneath me, and I pulled her hair so hard she screamed—or maybe that was her own climax rocketing through her, rattling her bones, jarring her teeth.

  I want you I want you I want you.

  I couldn’t stop thinking it, couldn’t stop fucking her, couldn’t bear the thought that she didn’t want me, didn’t want this, more than she wanted to protect herself.

  I was inside her.

  And I didn’t want to leave.

  Sixteen

  JAIME

  I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can't breathe.

  Something was crushing me. I saw nothing but silver, heard nothing but the cannon-fire of my heart.

  What was this feeling? It was heavy yet weightless, scary yet soothing, unbidden yet welcome.

  I couldn’t focus, couldn’t get control of my senses or emotions, couldn’t remember where I was or how I’d gotten there.

  Quinn. Quinn.

  Quinn was here with me.

  Quinn was inside me.

  Yes. Yes. I wanted him there, loved the way his bare skin felt gliding over my walls. Loved the way he reached something so deep inside me it hurt. Loved the way my body slowly contracted around his in that mad, dizzying spiral until it couldn’t take any more pleasure, exploded, and fell to pieces.

  Falling to pieces.

  I opened my eyes.

  Whoa. Get ahold of yourself. Those were good orgasms, maybe the best you’ve ever had, but there’s no need to fall apart, right? It’s good chemistry, that’s all.

  Quinn was breathing hard behind me, hands braced on my back, which was probably why I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

  Yes, that was it. That was definitely it.

  When I coughed, he took them off me.

  “So,” I said, peeking over my shoulder. “That was your slow fuck.”

  “That was not my slow fuck. I sort of lost control there.” He started untying the scarf around my wrists. “Abandoned the plan.”

  “I’m all for that kind of detour. Think the neighborhood enjoyed the show?”

  “Unless someone was standing right beneath your window when you undressed—”

  “Or looking from their second-floor window across the street.”

  “Or that, of course—then they saw nothing. That’s not to say the entire street didn’t hear the show.”

  I smiled. “It was pretty loud.”

  “There. You’re free.” He tossed the scarf aside and helped me straighten up, then he slowly pulled out. “Free, but maybe a little messy. Can I get you a towel or something?”

  “No, don’t worry about it. Be right back.” I hurried down the hall to my bedroom, shut the door, and went into the bathroom.

  As I cleaned up, I started to panic. Not because he hadn’t worn a condom—I was on the pill and very good about taking it. I’d never had a scare.

  Then again, I’d never fucked anyone without a condom. Ever.

  My heart started to pound.

  Why had I done it? What had made me so hungry for Quinn that I’d broken one of my ironclad rules? What did this mean?

  Calm down. You were hungry for Quinn’s dick, that’s all. It’s a nice one.

  True. Maybe that was it.

  But…but what about the big heart thing? And
the New York thing? And the way we had such fun playing each other’s little chicken games?

  Exactly—playing. You’re great playmates. Friends. And it’s OK to miss your friends when they go away. And it’s nice that he gave you a compliment, but for fuck’s sake, don’t be stupid. You don’t have that big a heart, and even if you did, it’s impenetrable.

  I breathed a little easier.

  Right. Quinn hadn’t worn protection, but I had.

  I always did.

  I took off my boots and traded my lace romper for some flannel pants and a sweatshirt before going back out to the living room, where Quinn had turned on a lamp. He was completely dressed again but holding his coat and scarf, looking at some pictures I had framed on the mantle.

  “When was that?” He gestured to a photo of Claire, Margot, and me in formal dresses.

  I went and stood next to him, arms crossed over my chest. “Prom.”

  “Cute. And that one is Alex’s college graduation?”

  “Yeah, I didn’t walk in mine.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Too much fanfare, I guess? I’d earned the degree; that’s what mattered to me, not the silly hat.”

  “You are truly a no-frills woman.”

  “I guess so.”

  He turned toward me. “Everything OK?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” I met his eyes, but I had to work very hard to keep my expression neutral. I didn’t want him to think this was anything different than what I said it would be. That he was anything more to me. That this mattered.

  Because it didn’t. It couldn’t.

  “I don’t know.” He knitted his brows. “You seem a little off.”

  “Well, I’m not. I’m fine.” Cool as a cucumber.

  “OK.” He looked at me a moment longer, trying to read me, and I willed my face to stay impassive.

  “Maybe I’m tired,” I said.

  “Of course. I’ll let you get some sleep.” He leaned over to kiss me, and I gave him my cheek. At the brush of his stubble on my skin, my insides swirled a little, remembering the feel of it between my legs. He left his lips on my cheek a moment, then straightened up. “Night.”

  “Night,” I said, walking toward the door. At this point I didn’t trust myself to look him in the eye. I opened it and he walked out without another word.

  After I closed it behind him, I stood there staring at the door, chewing on a thumbnail, hating myself for being so cold to him after such a nice night.

  The knock on the door startled me.

  I took a deep breath before pulling it open.

  “Was it too much for you?” Quinn asked, his blue eyes serious. “What I did?”

  “Which part?”

  “I don’t know—any of it.” He ran a hand through his hair. It still looked perfect. “The stuff at the restaurant. The window and the kneeling and the scarf. The broken rule.”

  God, Quinn. Don’t look at me like that. I’m completely unable to handle my own feelings, let alone yours.

  And I had no idea how to answer his question. The truth was complicated. If I considered each thing alone—the restaurant, the living room, the broken rule—the answer was no. None of that was too much for me. I’d had fun at the restaurant, despite the hideous romantic gestures and embarrassing nicknames. Sure, he’d made me squirm, but secretly I’d enjoyed being the sole focus of his attention.

  I’d enjoyed his little shame game in the living room too, loved knowing that bossing me around like that was turning him on—it turned me on, too. Had he been a little rough? Yes. But rough I could handle. Gentle was a whole different ballgame.

  The broken condom rule was more troublesome, but even that I could chalk up to simply getting carried away in the moment.

  But put them all together, and this felt too all-consuming, too good from every angle, too big for me.

  All I’d wanted was a little man candy, and he was offering me an entire meal.

  “Say something,” he implored. “I’m starting to feel bad.”

  I felt myself cracking. “Don’t. Don’t feel bad.”

  “I’m sorry if—”

  “And don’t apologize. For God’s sake, Quinn. I had a great time tonight. I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do or wouldn’t do again.”

  “Really?” He looked relieved.

  “Really.” I wrinkled my nose. “Well, maybe not everything. I don’t think I ever need to be called dumpling again.”

  He laughed. “I’ll stick to love bug.”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  We smiled at each other a moment, and even I felt reluctant to say goodnight.

  “So does this mean you’ll go on another date with me? Because that’s what I want. Something more than just no-strings sex with you.”

  I winced. “I don’t know, Quinn. I’m feeling a little…off kilter right now. I need to think through some things.” And you need to stop looking at me like that. Your face is totally incompatible with rational thought.

  “I understand. I’ll let you get some sleep.” He looked down at the scarf in his hands, then met my eyes again. “You know, if it makes you feel any better, you’ve got me off kilter, too.”

  “Jesus. Shouldn’t one of us know what the fuck we’re doing?”

  “Oh, I know what I’m doing,” he said with a wolfish grin. “It just took me by surprise. Night.” He disappeared down the stairs, and I shut the door before I lost my mind completely and asked him to stay.

  I didn’t fall asleep until well after two in the morning. I was agitated and restless—I couldn’t turn off my brain, and since my body was wired to it, neither could find any peace.

  I was wrestling with thoughts and feelings that were completely foreign to me. Every admission was a cycle of disbelief, denial, and gradual (grudging) acceptance. Finally, I came to some conclusions.

  I liked Quinn. Really liked him. It wasn’t just his body or his face or even his dick. I mean, yes, he was sort of obnoxious about his selfies, and he liked making fun of me way too much, but I liked his sense of humor and his work ethic. I liked his manners. I liked the way he talked about his mom. I liked that he quit modeling to go back to school and find something he really wanted to do. I liked that he knew my family and understood where I came from. I even liked that he stood up to me—sort of.

  What I didn’t like was the way he had me doubting myself. It had been five years since I’d sworn off serious relationships, and in that five years I hadn’t once regretted that decision. I’d stuck to my rules, had a good time, and never felt lonely, deprived, or hurt. The guys I’d dated casually here and there hadn’t made an impact, exiting my life as easily as they’d entered it. They were nice guys—smart, attractive, attentive, successful. But they didn’t do anything to me.

  There had been a few wild one-night stands and intense extended fuck flings, but not once did I consider anything more with any of them. That kind of passion just wasn’t sustainable for more than a few weeks, and frankly, none of those guys were very interesting beyond the bedroom.

  But my gut was telling me Quinn wasn’t like anyone I’d ever been with before and didn’t fit neatly into either category. He wasn’t the dependable date with no spark, and he wasn’t the guy I wanted to bang but not talk to.

  I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to know him better. I wanted to listen to him talk about his past and his future, confide in him that I was terrified to make the stupid toast at Alex’s wedding, admit that sometimes I was scared of ending up like my mother—married to my career, blind or complacent about my husband’s affairs, unaffectionate and increasingly closed off, a woman with very few close friends and no visible excitement in her life.

  I wanted to tell him how I felt guilty for thinking about her that way—after all, I’d lacked for nothing. Alex and I had grown up in a nice house in a great neighborhood, attended excellent schools, had plenty of clothes and food and all the extras—swimming pool, piano lessons, soccer
teams, trips to Europe. Our parents attended concerts and games and conferences, praised our successes, gave us the occasional hard words, paid for our educations, supported our personal and professional decisions, and never pressured us to be anything we weren’t.

  That was love, wasn’t it? I mean, my mother wasn’t a hugger, never really said I love you, and had never seemed comfortable with my dad’s attempts at affection, but that was just her. We knew we were loved, she was a perfectly fine mother, and my dad, for all his faults, was a good father.

  But Alex didn’t want to be like him, either.

  I rolled over and punched my pillow a few times. Being an adult was fucking hard. There were all these complicated feelings to sort through. Wouldn’t it be nice sometimes to have someone’s ear while you did it? Even if that person didn’t have any advice, just someone to make you feel like, no matter what, things were OK? That you were OK?

  A friend could do that, but a friend wouldn’t then give you an orgasm to turn OK into OMG.

  Quinn Rusek could be my someone.

  He could. It didn’t have to mean that I was wrong about everlasting love being a myth—it could just mean I was willing to take a chance on getting closer to someone.

  Quinn Rusek could be my someone.

  He wanted to.

  I just had to figure out how to let him without losing my bearings…or my heart.

  I slept late Saturday morning, and by the time I got up and looked out the window, Quinn’s car was gone. At the gym, I guessed. Ew, if we dated, would that mean I had to be all healthy and fit? Not that being fit was a bad goal, and I was pretty sure I belonged to a health club, but there was no way I could handle Quinn’s level of dedication to his physical well-being. Maybe I could eat more vegetables or something.

  I grabbed my phone and got back under the covers, intending to check my messages and email, but I couldn’t resist checking out Quinn’s Instagram first. God, he’d be so smug about that.

  “That’s right, I want to see your stupid hot face first thing this morning,” I muttered as I typed his name into the search box. I tapped his profile picture, but it was my stupid face I saw on the screen, right next to his ridiculous grin. “Oh my God,” I moaned. “I look like I just stepped in dog shit!”